


There were two kingdoms only:

by cm (mumblemutter)



Series: Gravity [2]
Category: Journey into Mystery, Marvel Ultimates, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Crossover, Implied Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor says yes, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There were two kingdoms only:

_The first of them threw out both him and me.  
The second we abandoned._

  

*

  

(one)

Thor's helping pull survivors out of a collapsed building when he notices the boy. Violent gash on his forehead, standing at the edge of ground zero with a dazed look on his face. Thor hands the woman in his arms over to the EMT, heads over. "Hey," he says, and leans down so he can see more clearly. There's so much dust floating around.

"Were you in the building? You okay?" The boy blinks, and the last time Thor saw eyes this shade of green was -

"I was mugged," the boy says. "Bastards stole my shoes."

Thor glances down, at pale, bare feet. "It's not safe," he says. "Come on."

The boy doesn't resist when Thor picks him up and pulls him away. He deposits him at the nearest ambulance, sits him down at the open back door. The gash on his head isn't priority right now, but someone will attend to him eventually.

Thor turns back, crouches down to take the boys feet in his hands. They're ice cold, the heels scraped raw and bloody. Thor pulls off his gloves, slides each one over a foot. They don't fit, but they will have to do.

He glances up, and the boy's just staring. "Thanks," he says, after a moment. "Saved from frostbite by the God of Thunder. Not exactly how I pictured my day going." The lost look on his face has cleared up somewhat, replaced by a faint smile, a contemplative tilt of the head.

"You can keep them," Thor says. "Or sell them - might be worth another pair of shoes."

"My name's Luke, by the way."

"Luke," Thor repeats, staring.

"You sure you don't need medical attention as well?"

Thor recognizes the lilt in the voice, the faintly mocking tilt of his lips, and it sends a shock wave down his spine.

The face is young, though. A boy, not a man. Thor can barely remember that far back. Hair in disarray around his face, green eyes that glitter sharply.

Prince, warrior, _brother._

An explosion rocks the ground they're standing on. Thor turns around, feels the heat of fire against his face.

"I have to go, Luke," he says. "Stay safe."

  

(two)

He's wearing the pale yellow polo and grey khakis of staff helpers, but there's no name tag on his shirt, no badge swung over his neck. There wouldn't be: he would have to be eighteen at least to officially volunteer.

Still, with the hair parted and slicked back neatly and the air of business around him, he passes mostly unnoticed. Thor goes up to him.

"Luke," he says. He expects fear at being caught out, any number of excuses.

What he gets is a blinding smile instead, and a cheerful, "Just the deity was looking for. I have something of yours."

He returns the gloves to Thor in a brown paper bag. "I washed them," he says.

"I told you that you could keep them."

"Well, then I wouldn't have an excuse to speak to you again, would I?" He peers at the brochure in his hand, reads out loud: "Climate change in a post-tomorrow world. Special appearance by Thor. Gotta say, I didn't figure this as your kind of thing."

"And what do you know about what my kind of thing is," Thor says. A moment later, he admits, "I owed someone a favor."

"Must be a big favor, then."

"Something like that."

An official comes up to Thor. "We need you backstage for prep, sir."

"Yeah, okay," Thor says, without turning to look at him. He opens his mouth to tell the kid goodbye, but what comes out instead is, "Come on, let's go."

He finds the kid a seat in the front row, where he sits with his arms crossed and a distinctly unimpressed expression in his face.

Luke, he says his name is.

Luke.

Luke.

"Do you have a last name," Thor asks, after the talk is over. Most people are intimidated enough by him that they tend not to rush up, but still the crowd is unavoidable. Smile, take a picture, sign your name.

Luke sticks to him gamely as he tries to extract himself, somehow managing to look both awed and bored at the same time. Teenager. He's a teenager. "How old are you," Thor murmurs at one point.

"Sixteen," Luke says. "Almost."

"Then you should be in school. Or at home. Your parents must be worried."

Luke shrugs, the sullen shrug of all teenagers worldwide. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Thor doesn't get a chance to answer him, is distracted instead by a dark head appearing around the corner, followed swiftly by a flurry of photographer's flashes. Tony waves at him, offers him a blinding grin. "I have to go," he says. "My debt collector's here. Go home, kid. I'll see you around."

  

(three)

He doesn't think about where they've gone, all the gods that used to rattle around in his head. Gods are supposed to be immortal, supposed to live beyond the death of their physical forms.

Balder says: The energy would have settled somewhere.

Balder says: You are the heart of all that is Asgard. Only you know the answer to where they are.

Thor knows nothing.

He knows this: He'd hiked up a mountain for days, endured the altitude, the cold, the avalanche that almost killed him. Yelled at whatever gods were left alive to listen, asked for a simple favor. Just the one.

It was selfish. Of all the things to ask for -

But then again, he didn't truly believe anyone was listening.

  

(four)

"Are you stalking me," Thor asks. Luke is leaning against a pillar at the entrance of Stark Tower, shivering slightly in his cardigan. He's wearing khakis, and a white shirt buttoned to the top. It makes him look even younger still, a child playing dress up.

"Maybe," Luke says, sliding his hands into his pockets and falling into step with Thor. Thor slows down so he can keep up. "I don't have your gloves as an excuse anymore, so I suppose it's just regular old stalking. It's surely not the first time. You must be used to this by now."

"Well, there was this one woman that used to - nevermind."

Luke lowers his head, grins up at him from behind his mess of black hair. "The price of fame, eh?"

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

"It's a holiday. Americans have lots of them. There's barely any school, really."

"It explains a lot," Thor replies, letting the lie slide. "Hey, you hungry?"

It's a place recommended to him by Tony: the waiters give him the same table every time and ensure that he's left alone. Luke eats as if he's starving, as if no one's fed him in months. From the look of him that might well be true.

"So where are you from, kid?"

"DC. Or I was, before."

"What about your parents?"

"Didn't get out. I was on a field trip that day."

"I'm sorry."

"It happens."

"No," Thor says. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more."

Luke's face twitches, something faint sliding beneath the skin for the briefest of moments.

Thor clears his throat. "So if you lost your parents, then who's taking care of you?"

"Folks. Here and there," Luke replies.

"That's not an answer." Luke puts his fork down, and the petulant frown that crosses his face stops Thor's heart for the briefest of moments, and he has to look away. "I had a foster mom for a while, she was all right. But now I'm here."

"Where do you live?"

"There's a guy that lets me crash on his couch." Thor forces himself to glance back, and Luke's lowered his head, focused on tearing the bread roll in his hands to pieces.

"I see. And how old is this guy?"

Luke shrugs and doesn't answer. Thor sighs.

"I have a spare room," he says. "It's not much, but it's better than a couch." A waiter comes over with dessert, a bottle of wine. "I didn't order this."

"Compliments of Mr. Stark," he says.

Thor gives both the desserts to Luke as his face lights up, drinks the wine. "So you think I'll be safer on your couch?" Luke asks, after he emerges from the chocolate rush. He sticks his tongue out, puts the flat of his spoon to it, and looks thoughtful.

"Yes," Thor says, simply enough. "I'm Thor."

It's just temporary. Kid needs a place to crash, Thor has a huge apartment with many empty rooms.

That's all.

  

(five)

Thor wakes up at three to get a glass of water, finds bloody footprints leading to the common bathroom. He imagines the worst, but only finds Luke sitting at the edge of the tub, holding a cloth seeped in red to his foot. "They should have healed by now," Thor says, stepping in.

Luke makes a face. "Sometimes," he says. "Sometimes I sleepwalk. I bump into things, break things."

Thor sinks to his knees, takes the foot in his hands. It's better than it was the first time, but still scabbed and bruised, oozing blood. He puts the foot down, picks up the other, finds it equally damaged. "Doesn't it hurt when you walk?" Luke has given no indication he's in any sort of pain.

"Sure, but nothing I can't handle." At Thor's look he shrugs. "Survived worse."

"Define worse." Luke tugs his leg away, his face shutting down. "I don't - I don't remember," he says. "I say things on occasion, I don't know why."

"Why do you sleepwalk?"

"I don't know. Why did you take me in?"

"You needed a place to stay."

"Plenty of runaways in the street. This isn't a halfway house."

Thor allows a small smile to cross his face. "But you're the only one polite enough to return my gloves."

"I feel as if -" Luke shakes his head. Thor finds himself holding his breath. "I know you - but that's probably just because you're a celebrity. Your face is familiar."

"Yeah, that must be it." Thor gets up, rummages around in the medicine cabinet until he's collected what he needs. Luke only hesitates briefly before he gives Thor his foot again, lets him clean and disinfect the cuts.

"Ow," he says, when Thor starts to put a salve on them. "What is that?"

"Magic."

"There's no such thing," Luke says, with distinct conviction.

"You'll see," Thor says. He's still holding on to Luke's foot, thumb running circles along his ankle without noticing. He releases him, says, "You should go back to bed."

"How will I walk with this gunk on my feet?"

Thor snaps his mouth shut. Opens it again. Luke's eyes are wide, pupils narrowed to pinpricks. The same exact bitter shade of green, as always. "Wait five minutes. Then you can walk," he says finally, a beat too late.

"All right. Hey, wait with me, okay?"

"Okay," Thor says.

  

(six)

Thor asks about school, keeps receiving one colorful answer after another.

"Look," he says one morning, tired of it, "You're surely expected at some point. Or are you even enrolled? Who do I need to call?"

They're having breakfast: Thor cooks, bacon, eggs and pancakes. Very hearty, very American. All the small ways in which he's assimilating, only partly due to the exceedingly well stocked kitchen in this apartment.

"You can call the state, they can put me in foster care and force me to go to school. Until I run away again."

"Again."

"You have no idea," Luke says. His shudder seems real, as does the tightening of the lips and the carefully flat gaze. But he was always an excellent liar, bar none. "If you want me to leave, just say it. I don't want to be where I'm not welcome."

"No, I don't want you to leave," Thor says.

Luke smiles, slightly crooked, his shoulders relaxing somewhat. "I can do the dishes," he offers.

"Knock yourself out, then."

  

(seven)

Thor opens his eyes, and Luke is standing over the bed, his hand hovering over Thor's throat. He reacts instinctively, grabs his wrist and flips him over, pins his thin frame under his own much larger one. Luke jerks beneath him, his breath coming in short, startled bursts.

Thor lifts himself up, slowly, reaches out to turn on the nearest light. Luke rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. "I was sleeping - oh, did I?" His voice is still thick with sleep.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I told you this happens."

"Sleepwalking, yes. Have you considered therapy?"

"What?"

"That was a jok- nevermind." Thor moves away, and Luke sits up, still rubbing at his eyes. "You should go back to your room."

Luke licks his lips, hesitates. "I was dreaming," he says. "Of Asgard. But I've never been there before - isn't that odd?"

"You watch too much television. Go back to your room."

"I don't want to. You should kiss me."

Thor laughs, more startlement than anything else. "I don't think I should," he manages to say. Luke only scoots forward, presses his face to Thor's bare chest. Thor's suddenly, acutely, aware of his own nakedness, of how his cock's so heavy between his legs. He takes Luke by the shoulders, pushes him away but can't bring himself to let go.

"I just want a kiss."

"What makes you think it will stop at that?"

"You're a superhero, aren't you? If I can't trust you -"

Thor kisses him on the cheek, in the end, a light brush of his lips against flushed skin.

  

(eight)

There are clothes in one of the guest bedrooms, of various sizes and for both genders. Thor points vaguely in the direction of the room and Luke disappears for hours, emerges with an armful of clothes. "What kind of sick den of iniquity is this? Or do you make a habit of collecting strays?"

"Something like that," Thor replies.

"Something like what? Den of iniquity or collecting strays?"

"Yes." He plucks a fedora from the pile, deposits it on Luke's head. "I don't think you can pull this off just yet."

"Sure I can, I'm sixteen."

"You were fifteen yesterday. Now you're sixteen?"

"I had a birthday yesterday."

Thor raises his brow. "Well, happy belated birthday, then. You should have told me, we could have celebrated."

"It's not too late, we can still celebrate." He starts to walk back to his room, and the hat drops over his eyes.

Thor rescues him, takes the hat and the rest of the clothes as well. He dumps the pile on Luke's bed, glances around. It's the first time he's been in this room since he moved in. It looks exactly like what it is: a well-furnished guest room.

Luke could disappear tomorrow, and there'd be scant evidence he was ever there at all.

"Did you happen to take a suit, or is it all just t-shirts and jeans?"

"Uh - I think I got some decent pants and a shirt." His expression says exactly how he feels about that.

Thor ignores it, says, "Great, get dressed. We're going out."

After dinner, Thor orders a slice of cake with one candle on it, watches at Luke's face lights up, watches as he leans over and blows out the candle, hair falling over his eyes. Thor reaches over and pushes it back unthinkingly, and Luke beams, brilliant and wide and impossibly young.

The same, and yet not the same.

He was never that open, never that happy to simply just _be._

"I made a wish," Luke says.

"Don't tell me what it is, it won't come true if you do."

  

(nine)

Sometimes, Thor dreams.

He dreams like a god, not a man. He dreams he was a prince, second in the line of succession and yet favored to be king. He dreams of Asgard, of glittering towers and golden skies and an endless war.

He dreams of a young man, pushed into the welcoming roots of a tree, trapped by his own rotten desires and twisted sense of loyalty.

He asked Loki once, before he was truly lost, "Why?"

Loki just shrugged. "Why not? It matters not, in the end, does it? This will all end in dust, no matter what we do. Might as well just play out the hand you were dealt."

Thor opens his eyes, and Luke is staring down at him. "You were shouting," he says. "Guess I'm not the only one who has bad dreams."

"I wasn't having a bad dream."

"Could have fooled me. Move aside."

Thor obeys unthinkingly, starts thinking only after Luke's crawled under the sheets with him. He's still shaken from the dream, it's the only reason why he doesn't kick him out immediately. Instead he allows Luke to put a tentative hand on his chest, trail his fingers along his skin.

"I like you," Luke says.

"You barely know me."

  

(ten)

Luke settles in, that's all he does.

  

(eleven)

Thor returns from a reluctant lunch date with Fury to find Luke sitting at the kitchen counter, spooning sugar into a bowl of cornflakes. He always did have a sweet tooth.

"Someone called for you, said he was your brother."

Thor opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of beer. Fury always makes him want to drink, to wash the taste of free speech and apple pie out of his mouth. It's easy to get sucked into one crisis after another, and before you realize it you're part of the system as well. Thor pops open the cap, says, "Balder called?"

"I thought your brother's dead."

"I have more than one. I thought you knew this."

Luke's eyes widen, ever so slightly. "I must have forgotten."

"What kind of game are you playing?"

"No game. It's not as if I'm an expert in Norse mythology. Besides, aren't they all supposed to be dead?"

"It's complicated," Thor says.

"You mean you don't want to tell me."

"Yes, that." Luke turns his head upwards and opens his mouth. Thor leans down and kisses him, just to stop what he's going to say next. Luke starts, then gives in. He tastes like processed sugar and milk, and Thor blindly grabs him by the waist, lifts him up onto the counter. They're almost the same height, like this.

Luke wraps his legs around Thor's waist, small hands clutching at Thor's shirt.

  

(twelve)

Luke says he used to be a card shark. Thor says, "You're sixteen - what do you know about hustling?"

They play poker, and Luke wins every hand.

"Luck," Thor says.

"No such thing."

Luke makes up stories about his past: it's ever changing, shifting to suit the tale he wants to tell. He's a petty thief on the streets of Paris or a foster kid in San Francisco, or a runaway orphan in Oslo. All stories end the same, with him here, finding Thor somehow.

Thor should tell him the truth, for his sake if for no one else's. It's not a way to be, to not know who you are. "I win again," Luke says, clapping his hands together with some glee. "Let's raise the stakes, shall we?"

"Why, when you've proven I can't beat you?" Luke's mouth turns downwards, and he looks thoughtful. He's learning: never show your hand too soon.

"We can play something else." He pushes the deck of cards towards Thor. "You pick."

Thor chooses 21.

"Clothes," Luke says.

"No."

"It's kind of all I have. Besides, some incentive to win."

This time Luke loses more than he wins, is stripped down to his jeans before half an hour has gone by. Thor's only lost his boots. He draws a six and a seven the next round, takes card. A two. Another card. A four. Another card - the King, and he throws the card down, smiles at Luke.

"Off with your shirt, then," Luke says.

"No, I think we're done." Luke's face falls. Thor says, "Put on your clothes," and drags his chair back. It scrapes across the tiles, and Luke jumps. Thor picks his hoodie and t-shirt up from the floor, hands it to him. "You'll catch a cold. Put your clothes back on."

He goes to his room, takes a hot shower and jerks off. Thinks of Valkyrie, thinks of Sif. Thinks of Loki, always Loki. But not Luke.

When he emerges, Luke's on the couch, playing one of his infernal X-Box games. He says, without looking away from the screen. "It's only a matter of time - even you know that."

"You're sixteen."

"Maybe - I don't remember my birthday. I'm probably older." He tilts the console to the right, and some sort of elf creature falls down a ravine, screeching. "Fuck," Luke says, with some disgust.

"Come on," Thor says. "You're dead, let's go out for dinner."

  

(thirteen)

Thor's not expecting company, wanders out of the bedroom shirtless and wet. Luke's hair is damp as well. He's scowling, shrugging at Tony.

"Hey, Thor."

"Tony, this is Luke. Luke, Tony."

"I know who he is," Luke says. He slinks away to his bedroom, slams the door behind him.

"He's just staying here for a while."

"I don't judge, you know me." He pauses. "How old is he again?"

"Older than he looks."

"Sure." Tony accepts the drink Thor offers him, the seat as well. "He looks familiar - do I know him from somewhere? He's not Asgardian, is he?"

"Is this a social visit or did Fury send you?"

"He kind of did ask me to have a conversation with you - the media's been circling, and our press is cycling downwards again. But I could honestly give a fuck."

Thor smiles, and bares his teeth. "Tell him it's my business, not his. Tell him I could just as easily not be an Avenger."

"Yeah, that's what I told him you'd say. You should move back into Stark Tower."

"Is that your way of telling me to get out of this apartment?"

"Naw, you know you'll always have a place to stay wherever I have a place to stay." He pauses thoughtfully. "I might be lonely, a little. Anthony misses you."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that." He finishes his drink, says, "Pour me another, will you?"

Tony's a friend, as much as Thor has friends nowadays. But he's not lying about how much he doesn't care. He probably cares less than Thor does. Thor pours him another drink.

Luke shuffles out of hiding once Tony is gone, a few too many drinks later. "So that's the infamous Tony Stark." His hair is starting to dry, curling slightly around the edges. "He kept asking me questions. Did he come to call you a dirty pedo?"

"You're not a child."

"In Asgardian years?"

"It's not that simple," Thor says carefully. He reaches out and tugs on a lock of hair, winds it around his index finger. "This body isn't made to store thousands of years of memory."

"So you don't remember," Luke says, and he sounds disappointed.

How much do you remember, Thor wants to ask.

But he doesn't.

  

(fourteen)

Luke's obsessed with - Loki. In bed, he talks about his research, by which he means YouTube and whatever else he can find online. "He's your brother, why do you think he did what he did?"

"It's complicated."

Luke curls around him, and when Thor hugs him back he can feel every bone on his back.

"How complicated? Was he just inherently evil?"

"No one's inherently evil. But we're gods, not men. Loki believed our fates were written for us, that we had as much control over it as we have over the sun rising in the morning."

"I bet," Luke says, "there are those out there that can blot out the sun."

"Now you're getting it, see." He rolls over, traps Loki beneath him. "Let's not talk about him. He's gone, and we're not."

  

(fifteen)

He doesn't bring Luke on missions, even though he insists that he wants to tag along.

"But why?"

"Because you're a kid."

"But why?"

"Because you're untrained, and whatever I go up against is dangerous."

"You can train me."

"Maybe, but not today." Luke tilts his head. "I'd worry about you too much - I can't afford the distraction."

He can't afford to lose him again, is what he doesn't say. Their bodies are so fragile now, every bone breakable, flesh all too willing to give. Thor armors himself, but inside he's still just a man. Luke's not even that.

  

(sixteen)

He flies Luke up to the ruins of Asgard. It's been a while since he's been there, but it's still the same. Just death and loss and the shame of failure. "Are they all in Valhalla then," Luke asks, and he looks paler than usual, the pink of his cheeks almost bled out.

It's about how Thor feels, except Luke couldn't possibly know what it's like: he's spared this, at least.

"Don't cry," Luke says.

"I'm not."

But Luke's hand is on his cheek, and it burns. He raises himself up onto his heels, his other hand pressed against Thor's chest for balance. "You're not alone," he says. "I'm here."

"Loki," Thor says, and kisses him.

It's not his finest moment, this. The boy's body pressed against him, his legs wrapped around Thor's waist.

Thor pushes him down to the ground, and takes.

Afterwards, Luke sits up and brushes his hair out of his face, says, "You called me Loki." His lips are swollen and there's a dusting of bruises on his jaw, against the line of his throat.

Thor looks at his own hands: surely not. "I'm sorry," he says.

"I'm not."

"You don't know what you want."

Luke tilts his chin up in defiance. "I'm not the one that's confused."

Thor shakes his head, gets to his feet. He's tired, all of a sudden. Bone deep and weary. He turns away, picks up Mjolnir and feels the harm of manufactured power beneath his fingers. "Who am I," Luke asks, and Thor can hear the scuffling of his sneakered feet as he rises.

"Just a boy."

He's just a boy, and Thor's just a man - a deviant who imagines himself a god. Imagines himself a brother he once loved.

"You called me Loki," Luke repeats.

"Wishful thinking."

"Fuck you." There's a violent undercurrent to his voice, and when Thor turns back Luke's wiping angry tears from his cheeks.

"It doesn't matter," Thor says. "Don't you understand? It doesn't. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that." And then he's rushing forward, burying his face in Thor's chest, clinging desperately to him. Thor waits for him to stop, rubs his back until he pulls away, hiccuping slightly.

"Come on," Thor says, reaching up to run a thumb across the scar on his forehead, to soothe the frown settling against his skin. "Let's go home, brother."

  

*

  

_He held my hand with a trembling hand._   
_"Come, let's have a roof over our heads awhile._   
_Look, further on ahead, there_   
_between truth and falsehood, a little empty space."_

**Author's Note:**

> Title and verses taken from "[Empty Space](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/242028)" by Amrita Pritam.


End file.
